


sad, fat old drake mallard

by FullTimeAvocadoBoy



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, drakepad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullTimeAvocadoBoy/pseuds/FullTimeAvocadoBoy
Summary: Keep trying, before you lose your chance.Drake Mallard hates to fail, but this is a huge ask.
Relationships: Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114





	sad, fat old drake mallard

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr link](https://quiverwingduck.tumblr.com/post/617502807272062976/just-some-drakepad-fluff-no-content-warnings-ao3), [Twitter link.](https://twitter.com/ButterThatBurns/status/1305873911096045569)

“Launchpad?”

The Thunderquack cut over the bay, avoiding the crowded skyline of St. Canard, and all the skyscrapers Darkwing Duck’s pilot was liable to clip. Once their backs were to the city, it was easy to feel lost. The stars lit the sky, and reflected off the still water below, giving the illusion that they were suspended forever in the expanse of space. 

Launchpad turned to him, keeping his hands steady on the… yoke? Drake hesitated, struggling to remember. Launchpad had, on multiple occasions, droned for hours about how the Thunderquack worked, about planes in general, about his love of flying. But when Launchpad got like that, it came with a similar sensation to flying over the bay at night, floating, weightless, peaceful… and it was easy to check out mentally. 

Drake liked that. It wasn’t often he felt relaxed enough to sit and let his mind wander. 

Launchpad was looking at him. Drake’s stomach wasn’t in knots, it was becoming a black hole. He picked some dirt off his coat, or maybe it was soot leftover from that last, explosive encounter. 

“I…” Drake froze. He had hoped words would just come. He was so good at rambling and raving when he was angry, when there was danger, or they were trapped in the particular hell of a PTA meeting. At times like this, though, he consistently failed, time and time again.

Drake felt a tinge of frustration. He was determined not to fail this time. 

“Yeah, DW?”

“Shut up a second,” Drake said, and regretted it instantly. “Sorry, I’m—I’m not good at this, let me just—“

The edges of Launchpad’s ash-smeared beak curled up into a little smile. “Don’t be shitty,” Drake warned. 

“I’m not saying anything,” Launchpad answered glibly. 

Drake opened his mouth to speak, and knew immediately it wouldn’t happen. He groaned instead, pressing his palms against his face until he could see stars even on the backs of his eyelids. 

“Launchpad,” Drake started again, finally, hands falling to his sides. “I…” Another false start. He stopped and breathed in and tried again. He would keep throwing himself at this wall as many times as it took.

“I really—“ _Stupid._ “I like you—“ _Try again, idiot._ “I like you a whole lot.” _Ugh! Worse!_

“In what way?” Launchpad interrupted. The smile on his face had only grown, his eyes shining with delight.

Launchpad was too good natured to be cruel, but every so often he made a game of winding Drake up in small ways. Drake knew this game well, but right then, all he could think of was losing sight of Launchpad through a plume of smoke, thrown down by the blast, battered with debris, scorched by heat. Disoriented, alone, terrified. He didn’t feel like playing. He felt sick. 

“Don’t be shitty,” Drake warned again, absently touching a patch on his arm where the feathers had been singed away and blackened, and the skin underneath stung. 

No matter what happened, Darkwing Duck got back up, but Launchpad? Launchpad kept smiling. Drake could never understand that. 

“I’m just asking! Do you mean I’m a good employee?”

God, that grin of his was infuriating sometimes. 

“You are a mediocre employee at best,” Drake snapped. “You’ve crashed us into the bay three times this—“

Drake looked up and the smile was gone, and he missed it so much that it ached. 

“I’m sorry,” Drake said quickly. “Launchpad, I’m—you’re a great employee, but I’m—I’m trying— _damn it_.”

“DW?” 

Drake inhaled sharply and held it. Smashing into the wall wasn’t working. Or maybe he just wasn’t doing it hard enough. He pressed his fingertips against the burn mark, too distracted by the throbbing to let himself think about his next words. 

“Can I kiss you?” he blurted, shocking even himself.

Even more shocking was how fast Launchpad was on him, how eagerly he jumped at the opportunity. Their beaks pressed together, Drake was relieved to feel the exact feeling he had only ever read about. The sensation of falling, of his stomach leaping up into his chest. Dizzying and thrilling all at once, no longer suspended, but plummeting. 

Oh, wait. 

Drake pushed Launchpad back, shrieking, “LP, the plane, THE PLANE—“

—

Darkwing Duck and Launchpad McQuack washed up on the shoreline of St. Canard, exhausted from a long swim. The bridge was visible in the distance, but it would be a long walk home, and they did not have a drop of strength left in their limbs. They sprawled across the sand, side by side, gulping down breaths of air under the now unattainable moonlit sky. 

“Four times,” Drake amended, once he was coherent enough to do so. 

“Yeah,” Launchpad said proudly. Drake watched him roll onto his back, looking upward as always. Even after the impromptu swim, Drake could still see scorch marks in Launchpad’s clothing and feathers.

“But we always make it out okay, don’t we?” Launchpad went on. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we do,” Drake answered wistfully. Launchpad watched the sky, and he just watched Launchpad. “It’s like that’s your superpower.”

“Maybe it is!” Launchpad said, chuckling in that way he did that shook his whole chest. When the laughter died down, Launchpad finally glanced back at him. “Am I a good sidekick?” he asked, all that confidence having dissipated just as fast as it came. 

“No,” Drake said, tempering the look Launchpad shot him with a gentle smile. “You’re a good partner, to Darkwing Duck, and to…”

“... Drake Mallard?”

“Yeah,” Drake sighed. “Sad, fat old Drake Mallard.”

“Aw,” Launchpad said, putting on that stupid, shitty smile of his again. “I love sad, fat old Drake Mallard.”

Drake sighed, letting himself think one last time of losing Launchpad in that explosion. And then, of Launchpad finding him again, fried and frazzled, but so happy to see him alive and unharmed. A relief Drake had shared. 

“I love you, too,” Drake said, barely above a mumble. This time, Launchpad did not grab him. Instead, Launchpad held his hand out, waiting patiently until Drake found the nerve to reach over and take it in his own.


End file.
